


Somewhere I Belong

by reapertownusa



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angels, Angst, Blow Jobs, Consent Issues, F/M, Future Fic, Hurt Dean Winchester, Hurt/Comfort, Underage Sex, Wall Sex, Wordcount: 10.000-30.000
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-04-08
Updated: 2011-04-10
Packaged: 2017-10-17 18:29:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 5
Words: 19,236
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/179905
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/reapertownusa/pseuds/reapertownusa
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean has struggled to cope with Castiel's death, but finds it even harder to cope when Castiel returns with Claire Novak as his vessel.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Warnings: Explicit sex scenes featuring a 17 year old girl.

_June 12th 2008,  
I hold my breath every time the phone rings and run down the stairs every time I hear the doorbell. Dad had always said that if there was anything I really needed God would provide, but no one is listening. I’ve prayed as hard as I can and we’re still alone. He can’t just be gone._

 _\- Claire Novak_

~~~

 _November 22nd 2014  
Santa Ana, California_

The pool tables were bustling, darts were flying and the downtown bar was packed with single women, three of which had all but thrown themselves at Dean over the course of the last hour. Instead of joining in the action, Dean sat silently on the barstool beside Sam.

With a worried grimace wrinkling his brow, Sam watched his brother’s finger trace lazily around the edge of a well used shot glass. Dean’s head was lowered and his eyes fixed blankly on the sticky surface of the bar. The only person here who could capture Dean’s attention was the bartender.

Wordlessly Dean raised a hand to the surly old man. Sam moved his own hand to cover Dean’s shot glass before the fifth shot too many could fill it. While he raised his head enough to shoot a critical glare, Dean didn’t so much as try to move Sam’s hand away. He just waved off the bartender with a resigned nod.

A cloud of frustration settled over Sam. He would have welcomed a shove to the chest or sharp upper cut to the jaw. As much as he had given Dean crap for his reckless behavior after Dad’s death, at least Sam had understood that.

Sam brought his own mostly untouched beer to his lips as he took in Dean’s slumped posture. There were darkened circles beneath Dean’s eyes and his stubbornly squared jaw was peppered with a heavier than usual coating of stubble. Usually Sam didn’t pay much attention to Dean’s clothes, but he was pretty sure Dean had worn that same rumpled shirt the day before and the day before that.

It had been a long time since Sam had asked how Dean was doing. Dean was undoubtedly as tired of hearing the question as Sam was of hearing the lies Dean gritted in return.

Casually Sam moved his arms up to rest on the bar top. As he folded his hands he purposefully brushed his elbow against the plaid paper liner of the basket that held Dean’s untouched burger and barely picked at french fries. The rustling sound caught Dean’s attention, but his pallor took on a tint of green and he pushed the basket away. Sam barely disguised the weary sigh that sputtered over his lips.

Dean swerved on his barstool to glance out over the hustle of patrons that filled the bar. By the distance in his eyes, Sam doubted Dean actually saw a single one of them. It was too dangerous to have Dean hunting like this, but the only thing more dangerous was to take away the only thing his brother had left.

If Dean had survived Dad’s and Sam’s own deaths, he could survive this. It was just a matter of keeping Dean alive long enough for him to recover. More than anything, it would help if Sam could understand how an angel had come to mean so much to Dean.

“So is this son of a bitch gonna show or what?”

Dean’s voice was thick and gravely, his tone uninterested. It was only words to distract Sam and interrupt the worried gaze Sam couldn’t remove from his brother.

“I don’t know, Dean.”

Sam ran a hand through his bangs and sent an indifferent look over his shoulder. They were staking out the bar because they thought it was hunting grounds for a solo vampire. The case was safe because even if they found the thing, it would be an easy kill. Lopping the head off a vamp was just the type of distraction Dean needed.

Still, the thought of the vampire actually showing kept Sam on edge. It was one thing for Dean to fight recklessly because he didn’t care if he died. Dean was a strong fighter and Sam would be there to make sure he didn’t lose.

It was something else for Dean to already feel as if he was dead, in which case Sam was afraid his brother wouldn’t fight at all. After all they had fought, Sam feared that for Dean, losing Castiel had been the final straw.

~~~

A soft touch on his forearm pulled up Dean’s eyes. His gaze wandered past the cotton candy pink polished nails to the nametag he didn’t bother to read that was pinned onto a low cut tank top. Long brown hair cascaded in waves over the girl’s bare shoulders and a nauseatingly warm smile played nervously over her glossy lips.

Dean quirked a half interested smirk, only because his downstairs brain couldn’t not be a little interested. While it felt as if half of his soul had been ripped out, he still had eyes. The girl was cute. Half his age and so not happening, but she was cute.

“You okay?” she asked.

It was then Dean recognized the concern in her expression and averted his eyes. If he’d known how much chicks dug broody guys, he would’ve tried this act a long time ago. But it wasn’t an act and for once he was thinking with his upstairs brain. It sucked ass.

All he wanted was for everyone to leave him the hell alone and to save themselves. It was no exaggeration that everyone who got close to him died. Cas had been an angel. A bona fide, immortal servant of heaven and Dean had managed to even get him killed.

They had used Dean for bait, had known that Cas would come for him. After a little ritual mojo Raphael and his cronies had Cas trapped inside his vessel right before they disintegrated him. Dean had tried to take them out, but all he’d manage was to amuse the archangel before getting zapped and left for Sam to find, plastered in bits of Cas.

When Dean opened his eyes he realized the girl was still hovering by his side. He bit at his lower lip, took in a steadying breath and again raised his head.

“We’re together,” he said with a nod towards Sam.

The girl flipped back her hair as she looked between him and Sam. She gave a polite smile before finally walking away. Dean tilted his head back and released a heavy exhale. He couldn’t look at his brother right now.

Dean didn’t need to see Sam’s raised brow or hear his brother’s disapproving tone telling him he shouldn’t push people away. But why the hell shouldn’t he? It was the only responsible thing to do. If he wasn’t a selfish bastard he would’ve already ditched Sam too. He couldn’t watch his brother die again.

“There.” A quick tap to Dean’s bicep accompanied Sam’s sharply spoken warning.

Instantly on alert, Dean straightened on the barstool and followed Sam’s discrete glance. It was a scrawny man in the back of the bar with a goatee. Underneath his leather biker jacket he wore a tight short sleeve shirt that did little to hide a distinctive scar that ran down the back of his arm. It was their vamp and in the corner he was talking up a familiar young brunette.

“Damn it,” Dean groaned.

He dug a wad of cash from his pocket, threw it on the bar and hopped to his feet. His hand reached beneath his jacket to make sure the machete stowed beneath the leather was ready for quick access. With Sam at his side, Dean strode across the bar, following as the vampire and waitress slipped out the bar’s rear exit.

Once they were out of view, Dean gave up on discrete and jogged towards the door. He ignored the disgruntled shouts as he pushed past the people that stood between him and the exit. It was only Sam’s hand on his shoulder that stopped him from flinging the door open. Dean’s anxious eyes pinned his brother with a questioning glare. This wasn’t the time for another ridiculous heart to heart attempt.

“Just be careful, okay?”

Sam’s tone sounded as if he thought Dean was five and getting ready to cross a street for the first time. With an annoyed grumble Dean shook off his brother’s hand and slipped his fingers around the hilt of his machete. This was far from his first rodeo and he wasn’t lucky enough for it to be his last.

Leaving behind the noise of the bar, they crept out into the cool evening. It took a moment for Dean’s eyes to adjust to the darkness beyond the small security light over the bar’s door, but an uncomfortable laugh from the girl gave away the location of the two lovebirds not far down the alley.

“I’m not really...” her nervous voice whispered, “maybe we could just meet up later?”

Nearly as soon as Dean had pinpointed the exact location of the girl, her uneasy words fractured into a scream. Dean’s boots pounded over the cement as he sprinted towards them. By the time he launched himself at the vampire, Dean’s machete was raised but the girl was too close for him to take a clean swing.

“Get out of here!” Dean shouted to her.

He couldn’t take his eyes off the vampire beneath him to see the girl leave, but he heard her footsteps take off down the alley. The vampire swung a fist up to clip Dean’s jaw. Dean wrestled the flailing arms back down in a struggle to get a solid grip on the vampire. He couldn’t risk the thing slipping away before he swung the blade to severe the vampire’s spine.

A solid knee to his groin knocked a grunt from Dean. He struggled to gather enough air just to gasp to Sam, “Where the hell’s that dead man’s blood?”

When his brother didn’t respond Dean risked a glance over his shoulder. His grip on the vampire beneath him went slack at the sight of Sam crumpled on the ground at the feet of several other men. A rush of adrenaline cleared Dean’s liquor induced haze as he took in the glint of the men’s jagged pearly whites.

The vampire beneath him sprung up, flinging Dean off him and sending Dean sprawling over the concrete. Dean shook his head and tried to clear his vision while he stumbled to his feet. A couple yards away he caught sight of his fallen machete. There was no point in counting exactly how many vampires surrounded him because the two standing between him and his weapon were already too many.

He spun his head as Sam groaned. One of the larger vamps was hauling up his giant brother like Sam weighed nothing at all. The vampire smiled with a pure, wicked delight that rose bile in Dean’s throat. When Sam was shoved back against the wall Dean surged forward only to have two of the vampires jerk him back with hands that might as well have been iron restraints.

“You’re up next, hunter,” one of them told Dean. “But you’re just gonna have to wait your turn.” The cold, lifeless skin of the vampire’s fingers played along the side of Dean’s face and traced over his cheekbone. “I’m sure we can find someway to pass the time.”

Dean tried to lean away, his breaths coming in quick, panicked bursts, but he barely felt the wandering touch tease his lip as his focus remained locked on Sam. His brother’s head lolled groggily. By the time Sam was half aware the vampire’s teeth closed over his jugular.

The vampires' strangle hold on Dean’s arms was too tight to allow blood circulation, let alone for him to work free of the grips. It didn’t stop him from trying. Dean thrashed against the vampires with everything he had.

“Every last one of you!” His hollered rage filled the air of the alley, but no one came. It wouldn’t matter if they did. “I’m gonna tear apart every last one of you bloodsucking...”

A useless string of curses and threats flowed from his tongue. And it was useless because it was going to happen again. Again all he was going to be able to do was watch.

Dean’s choked pleas turned silent as the dark crimson trail worked far enough down Sam’s torn neck to begin staining his brother’s shirt red. For a moment Dean dropped his head. When he looked up a girl with pale blond hair stood directly behind the vampire holding his brother.

The girl was even younger than the one they had followed out here. There was an unnatural serenity in her solid stance. Dean’s lungs froze as his overwhelmed brain tried to process where the kid had come from and what the hell she was. No human could have passed the vampire’s line and they looked as surprised to see her as Dean was.

Beside him the shocked vampires loosened their clenched fingers from his biceps just enough to give him an opening. Two steps later he was taken down from behind.

He struggled to squirm from beneath the vampire that held him pinned against the rough concrete. All he got for his efforts was the burning tear of flesh and the hot flow of blood as the vampire’s teeth tore into his neck.

While Dean’s blood was drained away, a body hit the ground. By then Dean’s focus had faded and he couldn’t bring himself to look to see if it was his brother or the girl that had fallen first. In the next moment another body fell directly in front of him and a second later the heavy pressure on top of him was gone.

Dean remained laying face down on the ground, eyes closed and fists tight until a hand on his shoulder rolled him onto his side. It wasn’t until then that he realized the pavement had given way to plush carpeting. He’d probably just fallen asleep on a couch and rolled off in the middle of the nightmare.

It sure felt as if he’d hit the ground and it wouldn’t be the first time Sam had needed to scrape him up off the floor. Dean stifled a moan and rolled the rest of the way onto his back. The shifting pulled at the muscles in his neck bringing back the shooting pain. His hand brushed against the tender skin of his throat. The flesh was torn and his fingers came away sticky.

“Sam?” Dean croaked.

When he tried to sit a gentle, but firm hand pressed against his chest and eased him back to the ground. He squinted against the light of a lamp in what looked like a living room. Beside a couch Sam struggled to stand with a hand pressed against his own bloody throat. It was the girl that crouched beside Dean, staring down at him expectantly.

“Sammy, you okay?”

At Dean’s worried words Sam gave a slow nod. His brother was also busy scanning the room before his eyes came to rest on the girl. Her face was young, but her eyes ancient and familiar. He would have passed the familiarity up as desperation if not for the fact he could feel it in his soul as much as see it with his eyes. Dean blinked in disbelief.

“Cas?”

It was impossible, but at the same time he didn’t need to hear a reply to know. Ignoring the angel’s attempts to keep him lying down, Dean sat up. He grimaced at the wave of lightheadedness that washed over him.

“How...?” Dean looked over the teenage girl, but it was only her eyes that felt familiar. “Who?”

The corner of the girl’s lips twitched up almost imperceptibility. Just like Cas’s always had. “I can only imagine that it was God’s will to have me brought back.”

On a distant level Dean could accept that the girl was Cas, but his shocked mind couldn’t even make half an effort of processing that information. He just sat numbly with his lips slightly parted as the girl pressed a folded cloth to the stinging gash on his neck.

“Yeah, I get that,” Dean said, “I mean who’re you wearing?”

“This vessel is Claire Novak.”

It was the same tone Dean would’ve used to say he was wearing his leather jacket instead of the denim one. Whether it was alcohol, blood loss or shock, Dean’s head was swimming. He raised his brows as he struggled to find focus and remember why that name was ringing bells.

“Novak...Jimmy’s kid?”

Looking past the young blond, Dean’s eyes again sought out Sam. His brow knitted with concern as he took in Sam’s ghostly pale complexion, but Sam’s eyes just moved anxiously between Dean and the girl. Dean only looked away from Sam when he felt the pressure leave his neck.

“Other matters require my attention,” the girl said. Her voice was soft and demure, but her tone was all business, all Cas. It was too much. “Will you be alright?”

“Do I look okay to you?” Dean’s words were barely controlled. His brain and heart both felt as if they were on the verge of exploding. “Cas...Claire, whoever you are, what the hell’s going on?”

The girl silently rose to her feet. Her eyes were sympathetic as she looked down at him but carried that look that had always made Dean want to strangle Cas. The one that said the angel knew Dean wasn’t going to like something, but he was going to do it anyway.

“I came in response to your prayer.”

Dean’s face scrunched in confusion. “My prayer?”

“That Sam’s life be spared. That you not have to again witness….”

“Okay, okay, I got it,” Dean cut off. A slight flush came to his cheeks at the look Sam sent him. Dean rubbed his hand over his hair, carefully avoiding both Sam and the girl’s eyes. “And the last thousand times I called? You couldn’t bother to pick up the phone then?”

“I have only just taken this vessel. Dean, I realize this is a great deal to take in, but you must listen carefully. This attack was a planned ambush and others will attempt to finish what has been started. I have put protections in place to assure your safety, but you both must remain here until I return.”

“What? No way. You can’t just pop in to drop a boatload of bombshells and book.”

The young face looked baffled as she again kneeled in front of him. “If you mean you need an explanation, it will come. This time I will return.”

Her hand set on Dean’s shoulder, exactly where the angel’s brand was hidden beneath his clothing. The touch lingered as Dean’s gaze was lost in the silent assurance of the disturbingly familiar eyes. She leaned in and placed a soft kiss on Dean’s stunned lips.

Dean was too shocked to find the motor control to either respond or pull away. It wasn’t until she moved back, until he was hit with the emptiness of the lost contact, that he realized how long it had been since anyone had actually touched him.

Before his brain could catch up he heard a familiar rustle of wings. When he looked up, the girl was gone and he was left staring up into his brother’s worried eyes.


	2. Chapter 2

_May 1st 2009,_

 _There was a light inside me so bright I couldn’t even see myself. When everything was dark again all I felt was empty. Dad wasn’t hurt anymore, but he didn’t know who I was. It looked like him and sounded like him, but it wasn’t. Even when I was looking right at him he was so far away and now he’s gone again. This time I don’t think he’s coming back._

 _\- Claire Novak_

~~~

 _November 23rd, 2014  
Pontiac, Illinois_

The mattress beneath Dean shifted. The slight squeak of bedsprings lifted him from the unconsciousness of a dreamless half sleep into a drowsy fog. A low moan rumbled in his aching throat as he stretched deeply before flipping onto his stomach.

After a roll of his stiff shoulders he tucked his arms beneath the goose down pillow. It was the softest damn pillow he’d ever nestled his head into and the sheets smelled clean in a way he didn’t know bedding could smell. Cas must have picked the room.

The bed was warm and when the heat of Cas’s skin pressed against his side, the lonely ache in Dean’s soul dissipated. His eyes remained closed and a soft smile tickled the corner of his lips.

It sounded like a lame ass Hallmark card, but with Cas, Dean felt whole, like he was maybe okay. The angel had seen his soul laid bare, had seen how ugly it was and had still pulled him from the pit. Dean had told himself it was just until he served his purpose, but even after all was said and done Cas still hadn’t left him.

He released a satisfied groan when a strong grip began forcing the knots from his tensed shoulders. There was a precision to the circular motion that pressed deeply into his muscles. Castiel always followed the same pattern and that familiarity put Dean as much at ease as the massage itself did.

Dean tilted onto his side to surrender full access to his back. “Missed you, Cas,” he mumbled against the pillow.

Every inch of his skin was given an attentive care he knew he didn’t deserve, but was selfish enough to accept. At the small of his back the heel of Cas’s palms worked Dean’s rigid muscles into putty.

He was melting into the mattress by the time the waistband of his boxers was being tugged down. Dean lazily rolled back onto his stomach. His breaths quickened as he blindly helped kick off the unwanted fabric barrier.

Obediently he spread his legs for the warm touch that roamed up his inner thigh, kindling a heat in his groin. He had risked the world to deny angels his body, but he wouldn’t hesitate to give any part of himself over to this one.

The sheets were folded back and the relatively cool air of the room raised goose bumps over his heated flesh. Cas had never liked blankets.

The angel wanted to see as much as touch and Dean sure as hell wasn’t complaining so long as he was being touched, so long as he had this proof that he hadn’t failed Cas. His mind was too groggy to remember how he had failed or why the angel had forgiven him. All that registered was the lifting of a suffocating guilt and a desperate need for long denied physical contact.

Firm hands gripped his ass, spreading him further. Dean tucked his knees beneath himself and pushed back to invite in the suddenly slick finger that traced along, then pressed against, his puckered entry. The touch sent a shiver of anticipation up his spine.

With the same intimate familiarly that had worked over every other muscle of his body, the claiming finger dipped inside to massage the sensitive wall of his constricting inner muscles. Every stroke and twist hit exactly where he needed it.

Dean drew in a sharp gasp at the welcome intensity of another finger joining the first. The careful manipulation stretched him until the only tension remaining in his body was the hardening of his cock.

He was partially propped up on his elbows when Cas’s hand reached beneath him. Maddeningly feather soft touches teased and stroked him to a hardness only Cas could bring. No one else had ever bothered to learn how.

Dean’s eyes clamped even more tightly closed, his face pushing further against the pillow. His hips thrust forward into the grip that encircled the base of his cock before he again pushed back to beg the fingers inside him deeper. Begging for it to be more than only fingers filling him. It had been too damn long.

“I’m unsure how to proceed.” Dean’s back froze mid arch at the sound of the softly spoken, distinctly feminine words. His previously relaxed body jolted to rigidity. “I lack the proper anatomy for this position.”

His freshly opened eyes were blurry against the soft morning light. As he looked over his shoulder his vision was still clear enough that he could see that it wasn’t Cas. There was some blond girl on her knees behind him.

“Holy shit,” Dean rasped as he scrambled away.

He ignored the burning as the sudden movement tore the fingers from inside him. In the rush to escape, he flipped so that he was facing the girl before pushing back so fast that his shoulders thudded into the headboard with a bruising force.

The sharp whiplash tugged at the wound on his neck, reigniting the heat as a fresh flow of blood was absorbed into the gauze. With wide eyes he held his hand to his throat to reassure himself that it felt worse than it actually was.

When no blood moistened his finger he rubbed the back of his head before coming to his senses enough to pull the pillow he was sitting on out from under his naked ass. He tossed it onto his lap to cover the unresolved issue.

Reality slowly set back in as Dean stared at the girl. Claire. She kneeled naked amongst the rumpled sheets and stared right back at him with a concentration that pushed him over the edge from uneasy to fully freaked out. Her expression was hopelessly perplexed and her eyes were so damn Cas that Dean had to look away despite the so wrong hotness factor.

The bedroom door flew open. Dean froze as still as a deer caught in headlights when Sam burst in, gun drawn, looking ready to singlehandedly take on another nest of vampires. A blush tinted Dean’s skin from the pale freckles of his cheeks to the top of his shoulders.

Shame mingled with frustration. Dean let the pillow fall aside as he crawled across the bed far enough to reach the sheets and yank them up over Claire’s bare shoulders. He didn’t care if his bare, half hard ass was waggling around. It wasn’t anything Sam hadn’t walked in on a hundred times before, but his brother had never walked in on him playing along with some little girl.

There was a hint of a smile on Sam’s lips before his brother quickly turned around and closed the bedroom door. What his deranged little brother thought was so damn cute was beyond Dean.

With a huff, he swung his legs off the edge of the bed and grabbed the jeans he’d dropped on the floor last night. He stepped into the pants and jerked up the denim without fastening them. Part of him hoped Claire would vanish before he had to.

When Dean stood, he kept his head bowed and his back to Claire. “You can’t just poof into my bed you know.”

The delay in reply was long enough that Dean thought she really had disappeared, but then he heard the rustling of sheets being dropped back onto the bed. Dean squeezed his eyes shut as he felt a soft hand set on his shoulder. The touch carried a false reassurance he didn’t want.

“I don’t understand. You’ve never found it anything but pleasurable before.” Hearing Cas through a different voice seized Dean’s chest. “I thought you would be in need of a release.”

There was the understatement of the year. Dean shifted uncomfortably and stuffed himself into his pants, finally pulling up the zipper. He turned his hips away to try to hide the bulge in the denim as he risked a glance to the girl standing far too close to his side.

He tried desperately to convince himself it was only confusion, not hurt, that he saw in her eyes. The pit in his stomach returned and he stepped away, focusing on collecting his shirts.

“We don’t got time for that,” Dean muttered as he kept his eyes blankly fixed on the carpet.

“As you have assured me on a number of occasions, there is always time for sexual activities.”

It was Cas in there. That much Dean knew, that much he could feel. But it also wasn’t Cas. It was the kid of the guy that he’d gotten blown to bits. It was the memory that he had obliterated the angel who had rebelled against heaven for him. An angel and a heaven that a girl had been forced to sacrifice her life to serve because of him.

“Right...but we gotta find out what’s on our tail so Sam and I can get the hell out of this house.”

“This location makes you uncomfortable.”

Everything made him uncomfortable right now and this damn house wasn’t helping a thing. It was the Novak house. There had used to be a family here now one of them was dead, the other possessed and he didn’t know where the hell Amelia was. He was too afraid to ask.

“It’s being cooped up,” Dean replied dismissively. His tensed back was again to Claire as he pointlessly folded his shirts. “It’s vampires trying to make a Happy Meal out of my brother. I don’t need this witness protection crap, I need the name of the son of a bitch I gotta gank for this.”

“Raphael.”

Dean’s hand froze mid fold. “What?”

“That’s why I’ve asked you to remain in this house. If you were to go outside someone could identify you and relay your location to Raphael.”

The name alone was enough to rile the dormant rage inside him. Already the archangel had pulled one over on him, had taken Cas away. He would ask what Raphael wanted this time around, but he didn’t care. There was only one thing he needed to know.

“So how do we kill the bastard?”

As long as he didn’t look at the soft flow of blond hair or perfect curves of her slender body then he could almost pretend that his hearing was off and he was just talking to Cas. But out of the corner of his eye he could see her.

Claire stood off to his side shamelessly naked, awkwardly still and annoyingly gorgeous. Twenty years ago he would’ve been on her in everyway possible before they’d had a chance to exchange names.

Now she was a guilty pleasure he couldn’t justify indulging outside of some porno flick private time. Those girls had signed on for the part. Claire hadn’t. She was too innocent, too beautiful and how she got to be here was too unfair for him to swallow. It made him grit his teeth all the harder.

“It’s not possible,” she replied. “Raphael has heaven on his side. I’m all but incapacitated and you and your brother are essentially defenseless in his presence.”

“Yeah, okay. Thanks for that, Debbie Downer.”

“Only my vessel has changed. My name is still Cas.”

Dean bit his softly trembling lip and grabbed the shirts off the bed. “I’m gonna take a shower.”

She reached for him and he jerked away, doing his best to hide a pain that he knew was bared fully to her. His throat constricted so tightly that his next word came out as barely an exhale.

“Alone.”

~~~

After a quick shower and a fresh application of bandages, Sam had started up the coffee. The earthy aroma of the freshly brewed pot filled the kitchen by the time he heard wings flapping behind him. With his mug in hand Sam turned to face Castiel.

His brow furrowed. “What’s going on?” While he was still getting used to Castiel’s new look, there was no mistaking the dismay on the angel’s face. “Is Dean okay?”

“No.” At the abrupt answer, Sam quickly set aside his cup. “It would appear that I have upset him, but I fail to see my error. We have engaged in this activity many times before.”

Sam knew better than to ask for specifics because he knew all too well that Castiel would provide every gory detail. While Sam was happy for Dean, he’d seen more than enough of his brother’s ‘activities’ to incur centuries worth of therapy. He also had a decent enough idea about what was going on.

When he’d heard Dean hit the wall he’d assumed the worst. After he’d busted into Dean’s room and saw Castiel, he’d assumed the best. He thought the shock on Dean’s face was over him walking in, but in retrospect, the reaction didn’t fit. It wasn’t him that Dean had been freaked by.

“He’s just needs time to adjust,” Sam said, hoping like hell it was true.

Dean couldn’t do anything half way. He had opened himself to Castiel in a way that he never had to anyone else. Even Sam.

While Sam had tried to avoid the details, from what little Dean had said, having sex with an angel wasn’t just a physical experience. It was an oddly philosophical thing for his brother to say. If Dean had said that much Sam couldn’t imagine how profound the experience really was. All he knew was that Dean had literally shared his soul with Castiel.

Since losing Castiel, the guy that had been driving around with Sam was only a ghost of who his brother had been. The worst part was that Sam should have seen it coming.

If Castiel had been human, Sam would’ve stepped in. Dean had given over so much of himself, was so vulnerable in that way, that it was inevitable that he’d get hurt. But Castiel was an immortal angel. Sam had thought it was safe.

While Sam took a seat at the table, Castiel continued standing. The angel looked legitimately confused as she stared at him. “What is there to adjust to? Only my vessel has changed. I am the same. Dean is the same. Nothing has changed.”

“Nothing except for everything. Physically,” Sam clarified at the silent question.

“Our bond is at the soul level.” Castiel thoughtfully crossed her arms over her chest. “Physicality is pleasing, though irrelevant.”

Whether someone was a girl or guy, whether they were a teenager or pushing towards forty was less of a problem for Dean than for most, but Dean was still human. Especially with her diminished powers, it had gotten easy to forget that Castiel wasn’t. Dean’s unease here wasn’t something an angel could understand.

“Just trust me here. The suddenly girl thing is a little weird. Not to mention the age thing.”

“Gender is a human trait. Regardless, I was under the impression that Dean was attracted to the female form and my being millennia older has never been an issue before.”

Sam nodded to Castiel as he heard footsteps trudging down the stairs. “I’ll talk to him.”

“That would be appreciated.” Instead of vanishing, the angel remained stationary. Sam raised his brow to her. “I will wait elsewhere while you do so,” she added, finally catching on and disappearing just before Dean’s boots hit the bottom steps.

Dean dragged his feet as he walked into the kitchen, avoiding looking at Sam and going straight for the coffee. He looked every bit as exhausted as he had last night. Only worse.

“How are things with Castiel?” Sam asked.

“If I see Cas I’ll let you know.”

Dean continued to avoid looking at Sam while he twisted the cap from his whisky flask and poured a generous helping into his coffee mug. While he grimaced in disapproval, Sam kept his mouth shut.

When Dean shook the flask there was only a hollow splash. He put the metal to his lips and knocked back the last bit before stuffing it back into his jacket.

“I need to go get the car,” Dean said with his eyes fixed on his coffee.

“To get the liquor out of the trunk?” Dean lifted his head just far enough to stab Sam with a glare. “You’re not going anywhere.”

“I’m sure as hell not gonna sit here and wait for Raphael to find us. It’s not like Claire can stop him.” At Sam’s look Dean added, “Or Cas. Dude, this son of a bitch has already obliterated Cas twice. You think this time’s gonna be different ‘cause he doesn’t like to hit girls?”

Sam leaned back in his chair and stared at Dean. His brother wasn’t even asking about breakfast, which was proof enough that he was no less of a mental wreck than he had been last night.

“I saw her, Dean. Are you really going to tell me that’s not something you’d like to wake up to every morning?” Instead of answering, Dean took a swig of his coffee. “Didn’t we have this exact same conversation about Castiel being a guy?”

While he knew Dean wouldn’t verbally admit it, he knew his brother remembered. As far as Sam knew, girls had always been Dean’s thing until Castiel. At that point Dean had vehemently insisted, in his words - that he didn’t fuck guys, he just fucked Cas. The only person Dean had needed to convince was himself.

While he wouldn’t deny it was weird, Sam had never had a problem with Dean being with Castiel. The angel made Dean happy in a way that Sam had never seen his brother and that was what mattered.

“My angel just had the world’s biggest sex change operation.” When Dean spoke, he finally met Sam’s eyes. “I think I’m entitled to a little freaking out here.”

“It’s still Cas and it’s not like you don’t like girls.”

“Well, yeah…” Dean glanced up at the ceiling for a moment then shook his head. “You’re missing the point.”

“One of us is.” Sam set his coffee aside and leaned across the table towards his brother. “Dean, honestly, I don’t see the problem here.”

“Of course you don’t,” Dean shot back. “It’s not your boyfriend that came back short a dick.”

The mechanics of guy on guy wasn’t something that Sam spent a lot of time pondering. It took him a minute to get what Dean was even saying, aside from the obvious.

“So he was the one...” Without thinking, Sam made a vaguely obscene gesture with his hands.

“Don’t,” Dean sharply cut him off, slapping Sam’s hands back down onto the table. “Stop gesticulating about my ass!” Dean shoved out of his chair and paced across the kitchen. “How are we even having this conversation?”

“I’m just trying to get it.” Sam pulled Dean’s coffee away from the edge of the table before his brother could return to it. “The angel you love came back as an eternally barely legal blond. How is this not your dream come true?”

“He was a he and now he’s a she...what the hell am I even supposed to call him...her?”

While he listened to Dean’s exasperated words, Sam took both mugs to the sink. He washed out his own and dumped Dean’s before refilling his brother’s with black coffee and returning it to the table.

“The same thing you always have,” Sam replied as he sat back down. “Cas.”

Abruptly Dean stopped pacing. His shoulders hunched as the fight slipped from him. The expression on his face shifted and Dean hesitated before opening his mouth again.

“There’s a little girl in there, Sam. Some poor virgin kid.” Dean hesitated, tilting his head. “Okay, probably not a virgin, but...”

“Even if she is, I thought it was your life goal to free the world of virgins.” His brother glared but couldn’t deny his attraction to the thought. “And that ‘kid’ has gotta be at least eighteen.”

“No way she’s eighteen. She was like seven when we saw her five years ago.”

“Seven? Dean, she was in middle school. We were hunting werewolves by then. And since when are you all...”

Slowly the understanding smoothed the wrinkles from Sam’s face. Dean was too upset about this for it to be about girls versus guys or teens versus adults. It wasn’t even about Dean or Castiel.

“Dean, he’s not possessing Claire.” Technically that was exactly what Castiel was doing, but it wasn’t the same as a demon and Dean knew that. “It’s the same as Jimmy.”

“Cas was always Jimmy.”

“To you, but you know how this works, Dean. She had to ask for this.”

“She didn’t ask for this.” Dean made an agitated gesture towards himself. “It’d be like Michael wearing my meat suit to bone Crowley.”

Sam’s face wrinkled in disgust. He was barely making due with all the other visuals of Dean already swirling around his head. That was the last one he’d needed added to the pot. It was also a completely different issue.

“Even if you’d said yes to Michael, it wouldn’t have been something you asked for. Do you think Castiel tortured Claire and her mother until she said yes?”

“No!” Dean ran a frustrated hand over his face. “Of course not.”

He paced back to his coffee and gulped down half the cup before giving it a distasteful look and shooting a glare towards Sam. Dean set the cup aside and plopped back into his chair. After some careful breaths, he looked back up to Sam.

“It’s just...we saw her as a kid,” Dean said. “And I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but I’d kinda been fucking her dad. You met him, Sam. He never wanted this for her. Hell, there’s no way he ever wanted me. I basically kidnapped, raped and murdered her father and made her angel bait. Believe me, I’m the last person she wants doing her.”

“Wow.”

Sam leaned back against the edge of the table, crossed his arms over his chest and just stared down at his brother. If that was really what Dean thought, it was little wonder he looked like hell. They sat in silence until Dean again met his eyes with a sideways glance.

“What?”

“You’ve never even met this girl and you already made her hate you.”

Dean shrugged, looking half lost in his own world. “It doesn’t exactly take Dr. Phil to figure this one out.”

“Maybe before you sentence yourself to exile, you should ask Claire.”

“She’s a little occupied.”

While he didn’t think Dean would be as vehement about it as he was, Sam had guessed that after the whole Michael experience Dean might be gun-shy about Claire’s consent. He’d done some digging of his own. While Dean had slept in the master bedroom, Sam had been in Claire’s.

Sam walked over to the counter, grabbed a book and set it in on the table in front of his brother. Suspicion crossed his face as Dean glanced between Sam and the flowery book. “What the hell is that?”

“Her diary.”

“Why? Because she hasn’t been violated enough?” Dean indignantly shoved the offending book away. “I’m not reading her damn diary, Sam.”

“I knew you’d say that.” Sam pulled the book across the table and turned it to face Dean. “So I read it for you.”

When Sam tried to open it, Dean slammed it closed. “I don’t give flying crap what it says. Anyone young enough to keep a diary isn’t old enough to consent to an angel riding her ass for the rest of eternity.”

“Like Dad.”

Dean scowled. “Dad had a hunting journal, not a fucking diary.”

The book that sat between them wasn’t so much a diary either. It was a colorful scrapbook full of photos, pictures printed from the internet and cut out of magazines. In the beginning there were entries though by the end pictures filled the pages. Sam was still reeling from the shock of what those pages had shown.

If Dean would just open his eyes, he would see that if anyone had asked to become a vessel, if anyone had known what she was getting herself into, if anyone had wanted to be with Dean - it was Claire Novak.


	3. Chapter 3

_September 7th, 2012,_

 _Last night I had a dream. We were at the lake and Dad was there. It was really him and he told me everything. He didn't leave us and he still loves us. The angels aren't bad. They’ve been taking care of us. In their arms, we’ll be okay._

 _\- Claire Novak_

~~~

 _November 23rd, 2014  
Novak’s Residence_

The house was painfully quiet. There was a rogue drip from the kitchen faucet and the occasional rumble of a passing car. Mostly it was just the buzz of silence. Dean had gone so far as to find the television remote, but hadn’t turned it on. Instead he only stared past his reflection in the blank screen.

He was sprawled with one leg hooked over the armrest of the stiff, white chair he wished was a recliner, or better yet a bed, but snuggling into the bed he’d started the morning in was the last thing he needed.

His hand held a glass of whiskey blend that was too smooth for his tastes. It was all he could scrounge up from the Novak’s cupboards. His plan of going back to the car had bombed. It turned out that they were in Illinois. He’d parked his car in California.

If Cas was still Cas, Dean would be kicking the angel’s ass. Between his baby being abandoned on the other side of the country and him being kept on lockdown while some girl was out teenage mutant ninja turtle hunting, this day sucked serious ass.

So far the only good was Sam finally backing off on trying to play the host of Love Connection. It wasn’t that Sam had given up, just that he’d finally gone to bed.

Dean shook his head and took another sip from the glass. When his love life had become any of Sam’s business he had no damn clue. Sure, they’d talked about it before, in passing, but now Sam was like a freaking dog with a bone.

Bobby wasn’t much help either. While Bobby no doubt had an opinion about whether or not Dean statutory raped a possessed girl, in the realm of Cas, Bobby stuck to 'don’t ask, don’t tell', which was fine by Dean. Despite what Sam thought, this was just between Dean and Cas...and Claire.

Where Bobby wasn’t helping was on the Raphael nuking front. Instead of giving Dean an excuse to get out of this damn house, Bobby had sent his love and a pile of research books via angel express then told them to keep their asses put until she-Cas gave the a-okay.

With an aggravated sigh Dean shot a look towards the pile of books that he and Sam had spent the day digging through.

While it was crap that they had done nothing but sit around and research, it was the book poking out from the bottom of the pile that had him riled. He had been pissed enough about Sam insisting that some kid’s diary had any semblance to Dad’s journal. Doubly pissed that Sam wouldn’t shut up about the damn thing.

While he’d shot down Sam before his brother had gotten far flipping through the colorful pages, Sam had purposefully left the book in sight. The little bitch knew that curiosity would eventually get the better of Dean.

After a valiant effort of ignoring it, Dean hopped out of the chair, jerked the book from the pile and plopped back down. He dropped it on his lap and returned to his drink. A few minutes later, he took the next step and opened the cover.

Just inside was a title page printed with the generic opener ‘This scrapbook belongs to...’ followed by flowy inked letters that read ‘Claire Novak’. Reluctantly his eyes dipped below the text to the photo of the blond girl who wore a huge grin and an unusually nice camera looped around her neck.

Turning the page only twisted his gut further.

It was the Novaks. The three of them stood frozen in a snapshot of the perfect family. A family angels had destroyed. A family he had helped to destroy. The bright eyed, young Claire had her arms thrown around her parents and another beaming smile on her face like there was actually something good in the world.

Decorating each lavender page were swirls of darker purple flower vines, jeweled hearts, glittering sparkles and yarn bows. It all screamed of exactly what Claire was – just a little girl. She was a kid who would never get to live her own life.

Instead of finding her own boyfriend and eventually settling down to have children of her own, Claire would be stuck with him. If Sam and Cas had their way, whether or not she wanted it, Claire would have Dean’s hands on her and him inside of her.

He got that Cas was clueless. What he couldn’t figure out was how his brother couldn’t see how fucked up this was. Sam was supposed to be the voice of reason, not some pedophile cheerleader.

Gritting his jaw, Dean reluctantly turned the page. He couldn’t bring himself to actually read the entries but he flipped through the photos of family and friends. It was all vacations and birthday parties until half way through 2008, after which point Jimmy was no longer in the pictures.

The entries were sparse until May of 2009, just after Dean and Sam had first seen Claire. After some text entries there was a page that was just Jimmy.

In one heart surrounded photo Jimmy held his daughter. Angry red words scrawled around the second photo declaring that the picture was of Castiel. While the expression in the slightly blurred photo sure as hell looked like Cas, there was no way the angel had been standing around and posing for the photo shoot.

Dean clenched his jaw as his finger brushed over the picture of Cas before moving to one of the red splatters of ink on the page. The heavy paper beneath was rippled from moisture that Dean knew hadn’t dripped off a glass of water.

Claire was just a pissed off kid missing her dad and Sam was royally screwed in the head if he thought Dean seeing any of this would help a damn thing.

The pages that followed were filled with Claire’s remaining family and friends. The farther he went the more the pages were also sprinkled with cutouts of angels. Not little diaper wearing Cupids, but hot little angels he wouldn’t mind being touched by.

Dean gulped the remaining whiskey from his glass. If he was pathetic enough to have indecent thoughts about scrapbook angels then maybe he was a sorry enough son of a bitch to do this girl. He set the glass on the lamp stand just long enough to refill it.

A few pages later the glass nearly slipped from his fingers. It was all angel pictures up the wahzoo. The last Amelia photo had been a couple pages ago and now Jimmy had replaced her. But these weren’t family photos and Jimmy wasn’t the one Dean’s shocked eyes were fixed on.

The guy standing next to Jimmy, next to Castiel, was Dean.

Another photo on the page was Dean alone. It took a minute of staring at the images to remember the Alabama poltergeist case six months or so ago. For the first time Dean wanted to read the words Claire had written, but the diary portion of the book had given away to just zoom lens photos of himself and collages of angels.

Shocked numbness set in as Dean took in the snapshots of himself on investigations, fixing his car, just walking into a bar. If some girl had been able to keep tabs on them she either wasn’t just a girl or Castiel was right about them being too stupid to be on the streets alone.

It was like a train wreck he couldn’t turn away from, page after page of paparazzi shots and taunting angels until his hurried turning of the pages abruptly stopped. The remaining whiskey nearly spewed from his mouth as he choked.

‘Dean Winchester’ was written in big blue letters at the top of the page. Below there was a shot of him waiting outside a gas station for Sam in Louisville, hunting a skin walker outside of Olympia and strolling down the street in Phoenix.

Claire had pasted the Phoenix photo over a graphic of angel wings, which was creepy enough, but it was the words at the bottom of the page that brought acid up to burn the back of his throat.

‘Warrior archangel’ was scribed in the same blue letters as his name. Along with the words were two pasted illustrations of male angels.

Dean struggled to calm the panicked thudding of his heart. She couldn’t know that. Even if she was pulling an Anna and picking up angel radio, why the hell would she have felt the need to do a collage of his nightmare in her scrapbook?

Instead of an answer, all he found was more angels, more of himself and on the last page, an illustration of a girl embracing a male angel. In the bottom left corner was another photo of Dean in a field outside of Arlington, in a jacket that hadn’t survived the hunt that night.

Still, it was the words, not the images, which left him gagging. It was his own oath to serve as a servant to heaven. It was the sentence that emphasized one word - the word that still made Dean sick to his stomach.

Yes.

‘My answer is YES’.

Dean slammed the book closed and tossed it back at the table. Nearly as soon as the book thudded wings fluttered not far from his side. He couldn’t bring himself to look up. Instead he propped his elbows on his knees and rubbed his hands over his eyes.

When Claire remained silent, Dean waved a hand towards the scrapbook. “You wanna tell me what the fuck that is?”

“A journal.”

Claire took a step closer and Dean stiffened. He lifted his head to nail her with a glare. “Why is my mug glued all over that damn book that isn’t a journal?”

“Those are Claire’s records. She was observing you.”

It was said as if it somehow made sense that a little girl had been following him across the country with a camera. Dean curled his fingers tightly around the fabric of the chair’s armrests.

“No one asked some kid to spy on me! She could’ve got herself hurt. Hell, for all we know, she’s the one that got you killed.”

“All your assumptions are incorrect. There were concerns that Raphael might target you and Sam.”

“And what the hell does that have to do with…” Dean’s eyes narrowed and he almost thought he saw a trace of guilt flash over Castiel’s face. “You knew this was gonna happen. You knew Raphael was gonna smoke you and you didn’t tell me, you goddamn son of a bitch.”

“I was aware of the possibility.” Claire folded her hands with a weary sigh. “I didn’t wish to upset you.”

“And you don’t think having you explode all over me was upsetting?”

Dean’s eyes moved down to the slightly worn fabric beneath his hands. Absently he picked at the threads. Hearing that Cas had known something might happen was just one more thought that Dean could’ve done something to stop this. As much as he wanted it to, it didn’t make a damn difference.

“Forget it.” His tongue absently traced over his lips. He took in a careful breath that failed in cleansing the tension clutching his chest and raised his glass to Castiel. “So how goes the battle?”

“We wait.”

“Awesome.” Dean swirled the liquid in his glass. “’Cause doing jack shit has been a blast so far.”

“Who's Jack?”

Dean quirked a brow at Castiel’s tone. “You jealous?”

The eyes Dean felt drilling into him just made the house's silence louder. “My absence was difficult for you.”

“Dude...ette, you were gone for like three hours.”

“That’s not the absence I am referring to. I am sorry.”

“For what?” A startled look crossed Dean’s eyes. “Wasn’t your fault Raphael wasted you. Again. I was the one that fucked it up.”

“I promised to never leave you.”

Dean knocked back a swig from his glass. “You didn’t.”

“Then why do you still mourn?” Silently Claire closed the last of the distance between them. She kneeled in front of him so he had no choice but to look at her. Reluctantly he took in the eyes that pleaded to understand things Dean could never explain. “Dean, it is still me.”

His jittery fingers rubbed over his eyes. Part of him prayed that when he again opened them it really would be Cas there. It didn't happen, but he whispered the words Cas would've needed to hear anyway.

“Yeah. I know.”

Dean sucked in a quick inhale of breath as Claire set her hand on his knee. “In the deepest black of hell, surrounded by millions of other souls, there was still no mistaking you. Even broken, you shone with a light like no other.” Turning his head, Dean looked as far as he could in the other direction. “That you find yourself so unworthy of praise is proof enough that you are deserving of it.”

Claire scooted forward so that she was settled on the floor between Dean’s knees. Leaning forward, she reached out to rest her hand against Dean’s chest, pressing softly over his heart.

“Though it is an exquisite work of creation, I did not rebel against heaven for the beauty of your physical form. I rebelled because if fate condemns men like you then I want no part of it.”

The hand traced smoothly down his chest while the other was already slipping beneath the hemline of his shirt. The fingers traced along the waistband of his jeans before Dean squirmed beneath the touch.

“No...”

Already the swelling of his cock tented the denim beneath his zipper. Instead of pulling away, Claire’s fingers teased along his lower abdomen and dipped beneath the waistline. It wasn’t as if he could make a convincing argument that he didn’t want the touch. As usual, his body didn’t give a rat’s ass about what the rest of him thought.

“Close your eyes.”

Instead of complying, Dean grasped Claire’s delicate wrist and pulled her hand back even as his own body screamed in protest. He could barely breath his refusal. “I can’t.”

“This is difficult for you. I wish to help, just as you helped me.” With a quiet confidence Claire slipped her hand from his and moved it up to sweep down over his eyes. Despite his reluctance, when the hand pulled away, his eyes remained closed. “You’ll see that I was the one who raised you up.”

“News flash, those of us who aren’t angels of the Lord need our eyes to see.”

“You know that’s not true.”

Before Dean could argue, his belt was being pulled loose. He heard the clank of the buckle, felt the tug of the leather being pushed aside. After a flick of a button and an insidiously slow slide of a zipper, the fly of his low slung jeans was spread open.

The part of his brain that wanted this to stop had been gagged and beaten. His cock twitched to attention as fingernails dragged enticingly over it through the cotton of his boxers. He moaned against the loss of contact when the hands left his groin to pull off his boots before moving on to grasp the sides of his jeans.

Egged on by the speeding of his heart and a building desperation, he failed in hesitating. Instead he lifted his hips just enough to allow the denim to be slid down his thighs.

Obscenely soft hands glided over his skin until a delighted shiver tingled through his body and every bit of exposed skin had been attended to. His impatient hips jutted forward and again tipped up as the boxers were slipped down to join his jeans.

The heat of delicate fingers slid up his thighs to play in the soft curls of hair and tease at the tender skin beneath. His abs clenched as those fingers went on to cup his balls. They squeezed gently with a little twist that had Dean’s hands gripping the arms of the chair, fingers digging into the upholstery for all he was worth.

The attention moved up to trace the curve of his attentive cock. Dean clenched his eyes closed, parting his lips as a groan slipped out.

All thought had left him by the time he was spreading his legs. With his hands moved up to clutch the back of the chair behind his head, he threw his legs over the armrests, leaving himself splayed open for Cas to take any way he was wanted.

He jerked in surprise when moist heat slid up to envelope his hardened shaft. The manipulating tongue worked along his length as the whole of him was taken in with an unnoticed ease that only his angel was capable of. There was a speed and precision to the movements no human could manage.

Lost in the sensation, Dean didn’t think to open his eyes. All he could do was brace himself as his body shuddered. The intensity of the quickening movements left him trembling and gasping for air.

Somehow Cas just knew where to apply pressure, where to let the tongue linger, where to tease a scrape of teeth in order to push Dean to the precipice and higher without letting him come down. Dean threw his head back in the chair, pushing his hips forward pleadingly as he was pushed beyond what he thought his nerves could handle.

Instead of release, Dean felt, as much as heard, the unfurling of wings.

Behind his eyelids the room darkened, he felt the shift in air as the grace of the wings enveloped him. Even with his eyes firmly closed he knew the extensions of Cas reached clear around the armchair he was pressed back into.

Reassuringly strong hands clutched his hips as Dean’s own hands released the chair to search out the comforting presence of the wings. His hands buried into the softness that was beyond description, not like feathers, more an energy that coursed with the light of salvation and acceptance. It was an energy that reached into his soul, but was solid enough to touch, solid enough for his desperate grip to latch onto.

Dean buried his cheek against the silky safety of the wings’ embrace as his body quaked with the strength of the orgasm. With the wave of pleasure he found a release so intense that it was not only his come that spilled hot past the waiting lips, but the burn of tears that gathered on the verge of falling.

His muscles trembled as much with the release of the fear and loneliness, despair and guilt that he’d buried as deep as he could shove it. In their place he could feel the return of the perfect acceptance and peace that he could only find in Cas’s hold.

By the time the wings slid back he was half collapsed in the chair. His heavy eyelids cracked open as his heart still pounded in his chest. When he focused his vision he was looking into familiar eyes. Not a little girl, but eyes older than he could comprehend. Castiel’s eyes.

She rose from the floor and stood before him, leaning in until her mouth locked onto his. He tasted himself and in that he tasted Castiel. His arms enveloped around the thin waist and nearly slid up to cup the perfect breasts he knew were hidden beneath the blouse. Before his hands got there, he jerked them back.

Before Dean could explain, Cas suddenly stood up straight. “She wishes to speak with you.”

“What?”

Nearly instantaneously the change came. Castiel’s stoically assured stance surrendered to awkwardness. An uneasy smile came to the thinly pressed lips. It took Dean’s hazy mind two seconds too many to realize who he was now staring at.

“Cas, you son of a bitch,” Dean hissed beneath this breath. He waved at the girl, making a spinning motion with the finger of one hand while the other covered his lap. “Turn around.”

“Really, Dean?”

“Just do it.”

Dean growled at the poorly hidden amusement in Claire’s eyes. He almost thought he heard a masked giggle as she turned her back to him. Quickly he jumped from the chair. His breaths remained shallow and his skin flushed as he shoved his appeased, still slick cock back into his jeans.

He made a useless effort of straightening his pants as if it hadn’t been Claire who had just been forced to deep throat him. Uneasily he shifted and tried not to remember the exquisite pressure of her tongue teasing him into bliss.

The smile remained on her lips when she turned back to him. “Hey, Dean.”

Dean’s mouth opened immediately to speak but he found himself fumbling for the words. “Claire, I’m sorry...”

Before he could get any further she stepped towards him. “You need to stop.” His mouth again opened just enough to reveal his total confusion at her words. “Stop worrying. Stop blaming yourself.” Dean half turned away when he saw the deep sincerity in her eyes. “You have no idea how beautiful you are.”

“You’ve seen enough to know,” he said with a glance towards her scrapbook.

A blush of embarrassment painted her cheeks. “I guess it comes off a little stalker-y, huh?”

“Try full out rabbit frying Glenn Close on steroids.”

Despite the words, his tone was neutral. It wasn’t her that he was pissed at. He was just so freaked out his mind was again on the verge of exploding. Apparently this Twilight Zone joy ride wasn’t going to be letting up any time soon. He wasn’t going to wake up.

“Sorry.”

Claire wrapped her arms around her chest and looked down at her shoes. Now he was berating the girl he’d just raped. Super. Like Dean didn’t already feel like the bastard of the millennium. He forced out an irritated sigh and rubbed his hand over his head.

“Don’t,” he pleaded. “I don’t want you to be sorry I just wanna know what the hell’s up with the heavenly Winchester photo gallery.”

“I don’t know.” She gave a small shrug. “Photos, pictures – they’re kinda my thing. I’ve always liked to watch and document stuff.”

Dean scratched his brow as he tried to push aside the blind date vibe that he hoped he was the only one feeling. “Okay...so get a journalism degree. Don’t waste your time snapping shots of my sorry ass.”

“They wanted me to watch you.”

“The angels?” Claire gave a little nod. “So all that Michael crap...what else do you know?”

“I know everything, Dean, and ever since I met you, I haven’t been able to forget you.”

“So you had a puppy love crush on me when you were eight and...”

“Twelve,” Claire corrected. “And yeah, I guess it started like that. When Castiel was inside me, I saw you through his eyes. I felt what he felt for you and everything that has happened to you. After they killed Mom...”

“Your mom’s dead?” Dean asked hoarsely.

Part of him had already guessed that Amelia was another death on the tally, but part of him had still held out hope that she was somehow just on vacation, maybe enjoying a weekend in Italy. He had needed to believe anything that wasn't Claire having lost her entire family to this.

“She’s with Dad in heaven now.” Dean bit his tongue, gritting his teeth painfully with the effort to just let Claire talk. “Before I was hurt, something took me away. There was this bright light...they saved me because there’s work I’m destined to do. They wanted me to help save you and....”

Claire looked to her scrapbook, her hand tracing over one of the butterflies on the cover. “You’re the only one I still have a connection to. I just wanted to feel closer.” She let out a soft sigh and shook her head in frustration. “I’m sorry.” Her hand reached up to brush at her cheek as her voice cracked. “I’m such a freak.”

“No, you’re not,” Dean quickly replied. Forgetting his need for distance, he stepped close enough to place a comforting hand on her shoulder. “Really, it’s cool. I’m used to my secret admirers jumping out in a dark alley and trying to beat the shit out of me. It just makes a guy a little twitchy.”

Slowly she looked up to him. Her eyes were full of an innocence that damn near ripped his guts out. “I’d never hurt you.”

“Yeah, about that, I’m gonna talk to Cas. This planet is full of useless sons of bitches that don’t have anything better to do than be vessels. I’m going to get Cas to let you go.”

“No!” Desperation flashed over her eyes. “Please don’t send me away.”

“Huh?”

“I prayed for this...I prayed so hard. I don’t have anywhere else to go. Without you and Castiel they’ll just kill me too.”

“We can protect you.”

Even as he spoke the words he knew they were a lie. The sympathetic look in her eyes said that Claire knew it too.

Her hand brushed over his forearm. “You’re doing that now. I want this. I want you.”

“Look, you’re young and desperate. Sweetheart, you got no damn clue what you’re signing up for.”

The smile returned to her face as she grasped his hands. He startled at the touch, but stood his ground as he met her eyes.

“You have no idea, the strength and serenity…I’ve seen more in the last couple of days than I would’ve ever seen in my whole life. I’m doing amazing things and I have a chance to stop the people that destroyed my family. Dean, I don’t have anything to go home to. Everyone I know is dead. Everyone but you.”

“Will you stop saying that already?” With an agitated chuckle Dean shook his head. “You don’t know me. You got some boy band fantasy about this angelic dude that doesn’t exist. I’m just a guy, and a crappy one at that. You don’t know what you’re signing up for.”

“You’re not always right. Believe me, I know.” Her tone was gentle and her eyes sparkled with a look that bordered on playful. “Everything that Castiel has seen, the infinite love he has for you – it’s part of me. You’re just gonna have to get over yourself and accept that I’m happy to be along for the ride."

Dean moved to turn away to buy himself a minute to think. He didn’t get two steps before Claire grasped his arm. His brow creased as she turned him back to her. Without warning her lips closed over his.

It wasn’t just some friendly little love peck. There was no hesitation in her movements as her hand reached up to pull his head down towards her, driving the kiss deeper. Dean jerked back, tried to pull away, but he suddenly wasn’t sure what the hell he was running from.

This was about protecting a girl from him, the girl whose lips carried the kind of familiar intimacy he would’ve expected from Lisa or Cassie. It was the kind of kiss he inevitably got just before he had to hit the road and move on.

Whether or not she was right to feel what she did about him, there was no question that she honestly felt it. Words could lie, but some things could never be faked.

Instead of turning away, he returned her embrace. Pulling her to him, he worked his lips over hers. Reluctance quickly gave way to acceptance and moved on to desire to draw her in further. As stubborn as he was, Dean knew when to admit he'd been wrong and this was one thing he was more than happy to be wrong about.


	4. Chapter 4

_May 29th, 2014,_

 _It was a light like before, but instead of being inside me, it surrounded me. I thought I’d wake up in Heaven, but I woke up in Alabama. The thing that was, but wasn’t Dad, it was there and I know Dad said the angels were good, but I hated that thing inside him. Today everything changed. Now I understand what Castiel really is and why we have to protect Dean Winchester._

 _\- Claire Novak_

~~~

 _November 24th, 2014  
Novak’s Residence_

There was a science to pleasure, a calculated means of achieving maximum satisfaction. Since before the foundation of human society Castiel had observed creation. Certain events were self evident in accordance with either cause and effect or fate.

After only a few sexual encounters with Dean, Castiel had efficiently mapped out every nerve of Dean’s body. Particular strokes pulled a sharp gasp while other pleasure points elicited a purr like moan. Certain angles granted release while others denied it.

Beyond the physical, Castiel had observed that despite Dean’s apparent sexual tenacity, he craved an escape from having to make the calls. In the search of shallow comfort, he would initiate contact, but ultimately he desired the assurance of another initiating it with him. Dean wanted an affirmation that he was worthy without having to ask for it.

Castiel knew every freckle of Dean’s body with an intimate familiarity. She had full access to every forbidden corner of his mind and the ability to view his soul in its purest form. Yet Dean never failed to surprise her. It was admittedly one of many aspects of the attraction, one of the many beauties of humanity.

It was also Dean who had taught her that all these observations in and of themselves were meaningless.

The end goal was pleasure and comfort. However, it was not about a predetermined list of actions designed to produce the most predictable results. It was about letting go, about handing oneself over completely to another and becoming lost in that moment.

Silently Castiel drank in the sight of Dean.

He sat in the living room chair with Claire’s scrapbook open on his lap. One hand set atop a picture of Jimmy posing with the Novak’s family cat while Dean’s other arm hung limply over the armrest of the chair. The only sound in the still room was the rhythmic ebb and flow of Dean’s heavy breaths.

His head slumped awkwardly to one side and his face wore a rare expression of peace. The softened features, the occasional twitch of smile or barely audible groan of pleasure were just a few reasons Castiel enjoyed watching Dean sleep. It was a rare window to the dreams of a man who had sacrificed everything for a greater good he seldom believed in.

Raphael and those who fought at his side wished to destroy Dean for disobedience to orders that had no affirmed source. The archangel would celebrate as a victory the death of the Winchesters when Dean, and even his demonically influenced brother, possessed more grace than most of heaven’s angels.

Castiel didn’t claim to know the will of God, but she had to believe that Raphael’s path did not follow the wishes of their father. Her presence here, residing within Claire, was proof enough of that.

Are you just gonna watch him sleep all day?

Claire’s question rang more loudly through Castiel’s being than any spoken words could. Watching Dean acquire much needed rest was essentially what he had planned for the afternoon.

With Bobby’s assistance they had located the ritual Raphael had used to destroy Castiel’s previous vessel. Tonight they would attempt to use it on Raphael. The chances of surviving the encounter were questionable in the best of circumstances and to say that Dean was exhausted would be a profound understatement.

He’d so kick your ass if he knew you let him sleep through your last day together.

There was no doubt of that fact. Castiel was aware that Dean still held some level of resentment regarding the fact that she had not warned him the last time. What had been an attempt to protect him, had left Dean devastatingly unprepared for the inevitable loss.

In a few silent strides Castiel was standing directly in front of Dean. She watched the gentle rise and fall of his chest before reaching for him.

Her hand caressed his cheek so lightly that it was more of an exchange of energy than physical touch. It was an energy to which Dean was so familiar that even in his sleep he sought it out. His cheek leaned further to the side to nuzzle into Castiel’s palm.

A moment later, Dean grimaced. With a crack he flexed his neck and tentatively moved to straighten his posture in the chair. Before Dean could reach up to rub away the stiffness, Castiel’s hand was there.

“Morning...afternoon...whenever it is.” As Dean tried to squeeze the sleep from his eyes he quickly shut the book on his lap, set it aside and glanced to his watch. Seemingly puzzled, his eyes searched the room before looking up to Castiel. “Is Sam still at Bobby’s?”

“Indeed. They are making preparations.”

Still half asleep, Dean shoved out of the chair and grabbed for his jacket. “Why the hell didn’t you wake me earlier?”

Before the jacket could be fully pulled from the ground, Castiel intercepted Dean’s hand, the gentle touch urging him to release the leather. “By preparations I mean they’re waiting for nightfall. Sam wished for us to have time together.”

“For end of the world sex before we all get our asses splattered?” Dean raised a brow to Castiel and shook his head. “Ain’t happening. Raphael is the only son of a bitch going chunky noodle soup tonight.”

“That is the objective.” Castiel tilted her head, looking closer at Dean. “You don’t wish to have sex?”

Dean looked taken aback and tossed the jacket onto the chair. “If I ever say that, shoot me. Of course I want to...I just don’t wanna hear any last night on earth crap. After the first dozen, those speeches get old.”

Castiel’s gaze was thoughtful as she searched for reason in Dean’s eyes. The statement was contradictory to Dean’s earlier assertion of wanting to be informed whenever they faced the potential of not seeing the next day.

“You are aware that our chances of surviving this encounter are minimal?”

He already knows and he doesn’t want to talk about losing you again. Just kiss him already.

“Yeah, thanks, Mary Sunshine. Already got the memo. It’s still the closest thing to half a chance…”

The breath that would have finished the sentence was drawn away from Dean’s mouth and into Castiel’s. Within Castiel, Claire rejoiced as her supple lips locked over Dean’s, further driving the claiming intensity of the embrace.

Strawberry lip gloss, that Claire had instructed Castiel to apply, mingled with Dean’s astringent taste of whiskey and lust. Initial surprise nearly instantly gave way to Dean’s own lips responding with equal fervor. He drew Castiel further in with an inviting warmth, leaning down and pulling her body tightly against his.

While the vessel itself was typically irrelevant, there was much about this new body Castiel was still adjusting to. Physically, the decreased height was profound, the lesser weight and increased flexibility were of note. Other aspects were awkward.

Castiel was fully versed in the method a man and woman used to copulate. Theoretically. Where the confusion lay was that Dean had taught Castiel everything she knew about non-procreation sex. Inevitably their encounters in that capacity had focused around parts of the anatomy that Castiel was now profoundly lacking.

Mentally, Claire too was different. Rather than merely accepting her role as a vessel she was genuinely intrigued by the journey and, inevitably, by Dean. While Claire’s presence could be felt just below the surface, she scarcely had any more experience on the subject in question than Castiel did.

At the least Castiel knew first hand that Dean was a more than capable teacher. This was the part where she was supposed to ‘go with the flow’, as Dean would say.

Her hands slipped behind his head, following the path of soft, subtle hairs that trailed down the nape of his neck. At the side of his throat her fingers traced around the bandaging still guarding his torn flesh. She prayed for the power to heal him of the open wounds visible and otherwise.

As a human, Dean was physically a frighteningly fragile being. Yet there was an intrinsic strength that radiated from him, strength enough to terrify angels who could crush the mortal’s body with a flick of a hand. Freewill was the most opposing force humanity had to offer and Dean epitomized it.

That strength was apparent even to Claire who was only human and had only previously observed Dean from a distance. This was her first time feeling Dean’s power soaking into her and already she craved more.

From memory Castiel could visualize every ripple of compact muscle beneath the layers of fabric Dean hid beneath. At just the thought Castiel could feel Claire’s growing anticipation mingling with her own. Dean would freely admit to the exceptional nature of his physical form, but would deny his true strength.

That Dean could find himself undeserving was something that Castiel would never be able to comprehend. She knew only that touching him qualified as proof to his worthiness. Sex was Dean’s validation, an admittedly pleasurable one.

This is how I imagined it, how I saw it, but he was always out of reach. Don’t let him go.

Without breaking their intimate contact, Castiel drew Dean along with her towards the bedroom. Dean was too lost in the trail of kisses and exploration of this new vessel to notice.

It wasn’t until Dean glanced up to see the purple covers and floral pillows of Claire’s bed that he resisted. Castiel tightened her hold, refusing to let Dean untangle himself from her. Only a moment passed before Dean accepted the futility in trying to slip away and remembered he didn’t even want to.

He instead wrapped his arms tighter around Castiel’s waist and deepened the kisses as he tried to guide her back into the hallway. Dean didn’t want it to be here, while Claire needed for it to be. In the long run, so did Dean and for that reason Castiel refused to budge.

Her embrace promised safety as she clutched Dean to her. When she pulled back it was only far enough to meet his uncertain eyes. “She wants us here.”

The skepticism melted from Dean’s face as Castiel’s hands slid beneath Dean’s flannel and swept the material from his broad shoulders. Castiel knew by heart every angle of Dean’s muscles yet still found her fingers exploring each defined curve as if for the first time. The memory was not enough. Claire begged to be allowed to take in each minute detail first hand.

Dean reveled in the attention being paid to him. His head tilted back as Castiel’s touch moved beneath the cotton of his t-shirt to once again map every inch of his firm abdomen. The muscles twitched anxiously at every brush of a finger tip.

Once the shirt was peeled away Claire’s attention was drawn in all the further. This she had never seen before. She had never seen so much of Dean, had never been this intimately close to any man. None had held her interest when the model she compared all to had been Dean.

Under Claire’s influence, her fingers were gentle, even tentative as she set her hand against Dean’s bare chest. She took in the quick rise and fall brought by excited breaths and felt the racing of his heart. His pounding pulse was too quiet for human ears, but rolled over her like an invited thunder.

I thought I had imagined everything, but I could never have imagined anything so beautiful. I can feel him, every part of him inside me. It’s like we’re not even separate. Can he hear me?

With time he would.

A curious sadness overtook Claire as she absorbed the fading scars that sprinkled Dean’s skin. His body had been brought back pristine, touched only by Castiel’s mark. Yet in the years that had passed since Dean’s resurrection many new wounds had been laid over his skin.

I was wrong. He’s not a vessel worthy of Michael. He’s a warrior to put even Michael to shame.

It was the first time Claire truly comprehended Dean’s refusal of Michael. The need to stop the angels had been a source of confusion for her until she had fully felt Dean, what he had endured and why.

Her hand slid up to rest over his brand, the closest physical connection Castiel and Dean shared. There she could clearly see everything, not only within Castiel, but within Dean. From the deaths of those he loved to his nightmares of drawing the blood of his family with Alastair’s razor.

She could see him fully in this moment as reluctance flowed off him in waves and mingled with heavy desire. Claire could see for herself how visually drawn Dean was to her. That all he wanted was not to hurt her, for her to have the freedom he felt everyone deserved. The freedom Castiel wished she could give Dean.

His fingers were as hesitant as hers had been when he reached out to trail down the buttons of Castiel’s blouse. With a forced patience, Dean rubbed his thumb over the top button before half freeing it from its hole.

Dean searched past her eyes for silent permission from deeper within. It wasn’t Castiel that he was asking for consent.

My answer is yes. I’ve always wanted you. I always will.

Soon Dean would truly understand to what depth Claire had said yes. It was sincerely the case that she had as much said yes to Dean as she had to Castiel. From the start she had known that Dean was irrevocably linked to her, that it would be her duty to protect him and that he would willingly again sacrifice his life for her.

Castiel let her eyes speak the sincerity that words were not strong enough to carry, that she and Claire both desired to have him completely as theirs. When Dean began to unhook the buttons it was with a reverence that Castiel knew was not solely due to this body.

Their bond had been formed when Castiel had embraced Dean’s soul in the depth of the pit. It had been sealed when Castiel had remolded Dean’s body to the pristine specifications that God had laid forth. Their physical relationship, however, had been unintentionally initiated by Dean.

Yet Dean had remained reluctant due to a misguided belief that being human made him inferior. Dean failed to see that there was a reason God had given so much admiration to humanity and their spirit. He still could not accept that even the Lord had taken a personal interest in him and his brother.

By the time Dean had slipped free every button, his breaths came in rapid, soft pants. Once again he looked to her eyes for confirmation before he let his hands connect with the warmth of her skin.

Claire melted at the exploring touch that cued a shiver to dance through Castiel as Dean’s finger caught against the lacy strap of her bra. A flash of disappoint flooded through her as his hand moved past it.

Show him it’s okay. I want him to see me. I want him to know that everything I am is yours and his.

The request perplexed Castiel. She was nearly certain that the presence of a bra was irrelevant to the mechanics of sex. Although in a way she understood. She wanted no piece of clothing obstructing Dean from herself.

With Claire’s guidance she did not remove the material, but grasped Dean’s hands and guided him to the latch. His eyes were fixed on hers as his practiced fingers slipped the metal hook clear to let Castiel’s breasts spill free from the confines.

Dean’s inhibition faded. After letting the bra fall aside he cupped her breasts in the heat of his hands. Quickly Castiel understood the reason for the disposal of the bra. After a gentle squeeze, Dean took her oddly responsive nipples between his thumbs and fingers. Twisting motions and a tug pulled a surprised breath from Castiel.

Soon Dean’s careful movements quickened, revealing the need building inside him. Castiel’s body too was responding in its own way. The sensation was familiar yet foreign.

They entwined fully with each other, hands desperate for as much contact as these physical forms would allow. It was never enough. Even when her thoughts intermingled with Dean’s, thinking was still too physical of a process. They needed to move past thought into experience, into simply being.

Castiel urged Dean towards the bed. When the back of his knees hit the mattress she pushed him down onto it. He squirmed back so he was fully situated on the bed before she settled down on top of him.

To her surprise, Dean gripped her shoulders and rolled over so that he was on top straddling her. Dean’s body, mind and soul begged for connection and his eyes pleaded for reassurance though it was Castiel’s turn to look questioning.

Dean’s hands trailed down from her breasts and over the flat of her stomach to the button of her jeans. No longer needing to ask, he unzipped the pants and hiked them down her thighs, swiftly pitching them onto the floor.

As ready as Claire was to give herself to Dean, she just as desperately wanted to see him in all his glory. To oblige, Castiel quickly worked Dean free of his jeans and boxers. She let her hand linger along his freshly exposed backside and brush between his thighs. The shiver of delight shook through Dean, into Castiel and straight through to Claire.

Lying still, she allowed Claire the time to properly view him. He was perfection personified kneeling over her. His solid body was bared and willing to do anything for her, just as she would do anything for him.

Everything Dean’s posture and eyes didn’t say, his soul screamed.

Castiel stroked his tensed thigh to invite him closer, to unequivocally say he was far beyond worthy. It urged Dean on, his hand moving to the waist band of her panties. In the next moment they too were gone and Dean moved on to the patch of pale hair, his hand teasing lightly over it.

There was no warning of the sensation to come when Dean’s fingers slipped between her thighs. Given that she hadn’t seen Dean prepare the lube, Castiel was startled by the moistness already awaiting him. She squirmed beneath Dean, unprepared for the intensity of his hand rubbing over and dipping into her folds.

His touch was gentle, but confident and Castiel couldn’t repress the moan of displeasure when it went away. Dean pushed himself down to the foot of the bed. For the briefest moment it appeared as if he was going to get up though Castiel could sense that his intentions were anything but that.

The moistness of Dean’s lips peppered Castiel’s skin. Everything tingled by the time Dean nestled his head between her waiting thighs. At Claire’s instruction, Castiel spread her legs further, opening herself fully to Dean.

His hands rubbed over her inner thighs as his mouth descended to continue where his fingers had left off. The pressure built with every long stroke and twist of Dean’s eager tongue, sensations that were only amplified by Claire’s internal pleas for more.

Dean’s lips locked over a new target area, suckling and licking at a point that seized Castiel’s body. Her hips bucked in surprise, trembling as Dean increased the speed and intensity.

Her back arched when Dean’s hand again joined his mouth, working with what must be an exhausting vigor. Bringing something with an angel’s endurance to climax was no easy endeavor. Castiel had always been grateful for Dean’s doggedness.

Castiel’s hands weaved into Dean’s hair in an effort to pull him closer in search of a release that Claire hoped would never come. In an explosive sweep of motion her wings spread beneath her and joined the effort of pulling Dean to her, fully connecting their essences.

The extensions of Castiel wrapped protectively around him, wanting always to be here with him in the safety of this bliss and for this not to be goodbye.

Beside the bed the lamp light blew out as a wave of pure ecstasy rippled through Castiel and sent energy washing over the room. Wings contracted as her internal muscles did the same leaving her writhing beneath Dean who refused to let up his actions until Castiel was gasping limply beneath him.

Another kiss and Dean moved his mouth away, his body sliding up hers. Castiel could feel the slick tip of his hardness draw up her still twitching thigh. Vaguely Castiel acknowledged that it was her turn to do something, but what exactly that was eluded her.

Claire’s guidance fell silent as she reveled in the release that had just hit her like a nuclear bomb. Castiel tried and failed to receive intelligible feedback from Claire only to have Dean suddenly shoot out of bed.

“Crap!”

Castiel furrowed her brow in confusion. “Have I done something wrong?”

“What? No...” Dean’s chest heaved as his eyes desperately searched the room. Quickly he grabbed his jeans from the floor and turned the pockets inside out. “Damn it! I haven’t been with...”

Dean’s voice trailed off, pain bleeding over his aroused features. Castiel ran a reassuring hand over the light sheen of sweat on Dean’s forearm. There was no need for him to say that he had been alone since the destruction of Jimmy’s vessel.

She had seen the emptiness in him then and felt an echo of it now that she hoped would not again be a chasm come tomorrow morning. That fear of loss was building inside of Dean and Castiel moved to divert it with a stroke along his swollen erection. With a jut of his hips Dean was drawn back to the physical.

Dean returned to his search and locked eyes on Sam’s duffel bag. “Yatzee.”

He rolled off the bed and padded across the room. Claire resumed awareness enough to take in the pleasing rearview as Dean bent forward to dig a small packet from the bag.

“Just some protection.”

Dean’s words were clipped and his movements rushed as he tore open the packet. Taking himself into his hands, he slid the thin cover over his erection. Castiel kinked her head curiously at the odd sight. She had engaged Dean in an untold number of sexual encounters and he had never required protection before.

“Against what exact?”

“Baby angels.”

Castiel’s look only grew more perplexed. Barely noticing, Dean hurriedly hopped back onto the bed. It wasn’t until his hands were again on her, eyes lost in hers, that he retuned enough to feel her uncertainty.

“It’s a bird and bees thing.” While Castiel had grown steadily accustomed to Dean’s odd choice of words, many of his statements still perplexed her. “Go ask Claire. Later.” The desperation for relief shone clearly on his face.

He doesn’t want to get us pregnant. It doesn’t matter if he can’t - it’ll make him feel better. Now make him feel better.

With a firm grip on Dean, Castiel pushed him back down onto the bed. This vessel was smaller in stature, but Castiel’s physical strength remained undiminished. The strength that coursed through her body left Claire in awe. Dean was more difficult to impress.

As she hovered over him he looked up to her with hooded eyes, his lips parted as he gasped for air. Experience told Castiel to take Dean’s erection into her hand or mouth, but Claire said otherwise.

With Dean waiting obediently beneath them, Claire guided Castiel to lower herself onto him. As she did, Dean held himself back, forcing his hips to remain frozen as Castiel slid down to cover his erection. He let her set the pace as his heat stretched her. It wasn’t until she was moving at a steady rhythm that Dean allowed himself to thrust up into her.

Castiel moved with the same dominance she had in her male vessel even though it was now Dean inside of her. All that was of relevance was the unmistakable pleasure written across Dean’s face, it was the instance of happiness that radiated from Dean’s soul.

Dean belonged here, belonged to Castiel and now to Claire. They belonged to each other and that bond could never be shattered. Raphael could destroy these bodies, nothing more.


	5. Chapter 5

_November 16th, 2014_

 _They’ve had me watching from the outside. I see everything the Winchesters do, I know everything about them and I want my life to mean something like theirs does. I don’t want to be on the outside anymore. I’m afraid of what might happen, of why I might be called, but I’m ready. I want to be part of this fight._

 _\- Claire Novak_

~~~

 _November 24th, 2014  
Santa Ana, California_

The waiting game had been old before they’d even arrived at the warehouse. Either Raphael wouldn’t show and they might be fucked or he would show and they’d pretty definitely be fucked.

While it was the typical lose, lose crap, they weren’t exactly swimming in choices. Raphael wasn’t going to stop hunting them. Better to risk it all on a big move than stick their heads in the sand and hope an archangel couldn’t track them when a human girl could.

Around them was nothing but stacks of crates and long shadows, each of which looked like something sneaking out of the darkness. Someday they would drop the cliché and banish an evil mother from somewhere with a cozy waiting area and refreshments.

Dean’s twitching hands moved between swinging his pistol, checking the position of his machete and readjusting his concealed angel sword. They’d called out an archangel, but given Raphael’s apparent love for sending others to do his dirty work, there was no telling what would answer the call.

“He’s not gonna like you,” Dean said.

Sam looked up from checking his gun to glance at Dean. “You’re not exactly on his Christmas list either.”

“All the more reason I can play bait solo.”

If Dean thought he’d have half a chance at Raphael without risking either Cas or Sam, he’d be here alone. But he needed Cas, and Sam had all but cocked the gun threatening to shoot Dean in both legs if he tried to go without him.

“Just forget it, Dean,” Sam said as he returned to scanning the area. “I’m not leaving you to do this alone. Not again.”

Every part of Dean tensed as the memory rolled over him. Knowing he was hopelessly trapped, knowing that Castiel would be killed, and knowing that he couldn’t do a damn thing to stop it as he was forced to watch it happen.

Despite being sickened by the visuals, he managed a quiet reply, “Wasn’t your fault, Sam.”

“Wasn’t yours either.”

“Whatever.” Dean gave a frustrated sigh and shot his eyes skyward. “I just wish this chicken shit dick would show his face already!”

Apparently the son of a bitch had just been waiting for a proper invite. Before the echo of Dean’s shout faded, an unearthly wind bombarded the doors of the warehouse with all the force of a hurricane.

The metal loading doors clanged deafeningly while the side entrance was blown in and the door half torn from its hinges. Overhead, the lights shorted and erupted into a telltale shower of sparks.

Dean scooted closer to his brother until their backs were pressed tightly together, each watching the darkness at opposite ends of the cavernous warehouse. They both left their angel swords out of view, but Dean’s hand hovered just over the silver hilt.

One of the only windows in the warehouse blasted into a rain of glass fragments. Dean’s head darted in the direction of the shattering glass. Slowly his eyes adjusted to the darkness enough to make out the silhouette of a man standing like a shadow in front of the window.

Even after Dean’s eyes locked on him, Raphael stood stiff as a statue. The angel looked at him and Sam like they were the sludge in the bottom of a garbage can. The feeling was mutual.

“Hey, Sparky,” Dean said with an uneasy smirk.

The blasting wind wasn’t enough to drown out Raphael’s deep, carefully spoken words. “Keep talking and you’ll be digesting that arrogant tongue.”

Beside him, Dean could feel Sam tense. Without actually looking to his brother, Dean reached over to put a hand on Sam’s arm, urging him to stand down. It was just tough talk. Even if it was a legit threat, there wasn’t a damn thing Sam could do about it.

Raphael took a step away from the window and Dean had to struggle not to pull out his pistol and fire every shot he had into the angel’s smug face just for the hell of it. He’d have to settle for imagining the sick bastard strapped down on the rack.

“There’s no angel on your shoulder tonight, boy.”

“Guess not and, well, I’m kinda attached to my tongue, but I just gotta know one thing.” Raphael took another threatening step forward as his eyes narrowed on Dean. “Just how bad does it suck to be wrong?”

“You stand beside that stain,” Raphael said with a sharp glance to Sam, “you’ve corrupted an angel into a lecherous creature and you have the gall to tell me that I am the one that is wrong?”

“If you’re jealous, all you need to do is say so.” Despite Sam’s efforts, Dean shuffled to keep himself between his brother and the archangel.

A disgusted sneer twisted Raphael’s stony face. “You’re nothing but a tarnished soul in a piece of rotting flesh.”

Dean sent a wandering glance around the warehouse in search of any sign of Cas. In reality it was good that he couldn’t see the angel. If he could see Cas, Raphael could too, but Dean needed some assurance that the backup was really there, that he wasn’t again just leading his brother to his death.

With a tentative breath, Dean knew he had to trust Cas and just go with it. “You can throw all the sticks and stones you want, you sac-less condor. There’s only one reason team limp dick would call up vampire foot soldiers - you know you’re wrong.”

He swallowed hard and widened his stance as Raphael came to stand close enough that Dean could feel the static energy rippling from the angel. Slowly he drew his eyes up to lock with the darkness of Raphael’s.

“You think maybe, just maybe, Daddy is still around and if he finds out what you’re up to he’s gonna haul your sorry ass out to the woodshed. Hey, look on the bright side. At least you’re right about one thing.”

Before Dean even saw the fist coming, Raphael struck out with a force that sent Dean flying. He crashed into one of the stacks of palettes before slumping to the concrete. Rolling over, he fumbled to get his hands and knees beneath him, unsteadily pushing to his feet in time to see the angel moving towards Sam.

Dean pulled out his angel sword before his brother’s came into view. A flash of lightening illuminated the glint of metal and pulled Raphael’s attention back to Dean. While the angel did look at him, it was with the same boredom Raphael had worn after killing Castiel.

Dean tightened his grip on the sword.

“You’ll never have the chance to use it," Raphael said. "Castiel mislead you by letting you believe you have any power against a real angel.”

In a blur of motion Raphael threw Sam to the side. His brother’s body slammed against the wall before falling limp to the ground. The sight turned Dean’s stomach and it took everything he had not to throw himself at the archangel.

Instead he fought to focus on regaining his bearings. His eyes searched the darkness for landmarks that would reorient him to where he needed to be. He followed the lines of several large crates and headed in that direction.

Raphael watched him with the distant curiosity of a scientist observing amoebas under a microscope. “I’ve been civil, but I could tear you inside out then crush you cell by cell.”

Settling in position, Dean squared his shoulders and nodded to the angel. “Then get your ass over here and do it.” He lifted the sword back into view, twirling it mockingly in his hands. “Unless you’re afraid...”

Raphael gawked in disbelief. “Afraid of you?”

Accepting the challenge with all the arrogance of the dick that he was, Raphael closed in on Dean. The cold dismissive glare in his eyes, again took on a look of amusement as the archangel stood nearly toe to toe with him.

“You can’t possibly fathom your insignificance.”

“Funny, I was about to say the same thing to you.” A smirk flared over Dean’s lips. “Say hi to Michael for me, you son of a bitch.”

It was subtle, but the over confidence in Raphael’s eyes faltered. The angel glanced down, no doubt waiting for a line of holy fire to ignite. He wasn’t far off, but what was there, he wouldn’t see.

Enochian binding sigils Bobby had dredged out of some old as dirt text were drawn on the floor in holy oil. Invisible and no ignition required. Raphael wasn’t going anywhere and when he tried to step to the side the angel figured it out.

“Wrong move, boy.”

Raphael clenched his fist with a slight twisting motion. In the next moment, Dean’s legs gave out. There wasn’t time for a scream to tear from his throat before paralyzing pain gripped every nerve in his body.

A spasm clenched his muscles to painful rigidity, but he didn’t hit the floor. Strong arms grabbed him and pulled him aside as he heard the lowly spoken words of Enochian below the rumble of thunder. Dean’s pain bombarded mind could only barely process Raphael’s shocked words.

“Castiel? You wouldn’t dare.”

The Enochian chant continued uninterrupted as Dean curled into himself. His teeth gritted so hard they were on the verge of cracking as he trembled in the arms that held him. What felt like an eternity couldn’t have been more than a few seconds before a sickeningly familiar sound hit his ears.

It was a wet explosion of flesh and bone, the moist plopping of remains splattering the ground. With it came an end to the pain. His lungs fought to recover lost oxygen as he lay limp. Slowly he realized the wind had stopped and been replaced by his brother howling like a banshee in his ear.

“Dean!”

“Stop yelling at me,” Dean grumbled as he blinked away the pain induced tears.

His body still shook lightly as he leaned against the support of his brother’s chest and surveyed the warehouse. “Where’s Raphael?”

“He’s kind of everywhere.”

It didn’t take much looking to see just how literal Sam’s statement was. Dean ran a reluctant finger over a bloody chunk and gagged, not because he wasn’t happy to see Raphael in bite sized pieces, but because it surged the memories of the demise of a different angel.

“Cas?”

“I’m here, Dean.”

Dean’s eyes lingered on his angel before looking back to his brother. Aside from a few cuts, and what tomorrow would be a nasty set of bruises, Sam looked okay. Sam confirmed as much with a nod as he helped Dean to his feet.

Even as he steadied himself Dean could feel Cas’s eyes locked on him. When he met those eyes the only thing that could pull him away was the soft chuckle from his brother. Sam did a pathetic job disguising a grin and patted Dean on the back.

“I’ll meet you at the bar.”

There was still a slight reluctance as Dean watched Sam slip out of sight. It would only be for a minute, but Dean knew better than anyone just how quickly everything could go to hell.

“It’s relatively safe,” Castiel assured him.

Dean gave a tight nod. Relative was the key word. Nothing was safe, but that was life.

“Though it’s not over,” Castiel added. “Retribution will come.”

It was never over. There would always be some other bad ass waiting around the corner for their piece of Winchester pie. They’d never win the war. The only way to stay sane was to celebrate the battles they did win.

“Maybe,” Dean said with a dismissive shrug. “But not tonight.”

Tonight Cas was still here. Dean wasn’t alone and neither was Claire.

With a sweep of his hand, Dean brushed aside the soft wisps of hair that Raphael’s wind had blown over her face. Part of him still wanted to tell Claire he was sorry, but the apology never found words. He was starting to get it.

Stopping Raphael the first time around would’ve saved Jimmy’s body. It would’ve let Claire remain just a girl.

But he knew Jimmy hadn’t wanted this existence. He’d wanted the peace of heaven and Claire was right, Jimmy was there now. Despite Dean’s revulsion to the place, he did hope it was everything Jimmy wanted.

While Jimmy hadn’t wanted this life for his daughter either, if Sam had taught Dean anything, it was that kids had a right to choose their own paths. This was what Claire wanted, at least for now. The moment she got tired of him, Dean would move heaven and earth to find her a way out.

In the meantime, he had to admit that Sam was right. It was like God had dropped the star of one of his favorite freshmen coed slumber party movies on his doorstep.

The rush of endorphins still coursed through his blood as his finger traced down the silky skin of her gently rounded cheeks. Every time they’d touched it had been her assurance to him that he was wanted. It was time for him to return the favor.

With a gentle firmness Dean backed her against the wall. A startled gasp slipped through her lips as she found herself pinned against his chest. When she looked up to him the anticipation in her eyes only deepened his need to feel her, to affirm that this was real.

He leaned in to lay his claim. The sweetness of her lips, the soft smell of apple blossoms as he buried his head against her hair, they were a far cry from the tastes and smells he’d come to associate with Cas. But he sure as hell could get used to them.

One hand laced into the waves of blond hair. The other blindly wandered down the tight tank top to the zipper of the low hip hugging, boot cut jeans.

While an ache in his heart still yearned for the familiarity of the holy tax accountant he’d come to love, his downstairs brain was throwing a party. Visually Claire was the hottest girl he’d ever held in his arms, and that was saying something. Where it mattered, she was still Cas. The smells might have changed, but the energy that bonded them was as strong as it had ever been.

When he pulled back there was uncertainly in Cas’s eyes but it was tempered with an unshakable trust. A smirk raised the corner of Dean’s lips. Cas might be unsure, but he somehow knew Claire was ready. Cas would catch up.

Dean drew down her jeans just enough to grant access. His hand brushed over the seductive curves of her slender hips on it way to her inner thighs. She was ready to go and then some. That made two of them.

He freed himself before crouching and guiding her legs up to straddle his. While he guided her down the wall, his sharp breath was as much in response to the intensity of her eyes as to the friction of her moist tightness sliding over his waiting cock.

It was no exaggeration to say that those eyes were seeing straight through to his soul.

Drinking in the connection, he reached around to cup her perfect ass, raising her up with him. Claire must have been driving when her legs came up to lock around his waist without having to be told. The shift in position drove him deeper inside her.

Instead of throwing her arms around his neck, as he’d expected, she extended her wings. Their light flowed around him, steadying her against him and leaving her hands free to wander. Her head rested against his chest, wings contracting more fully around him so they scarcely needed the support of the wall.

With each thrust he rocked her hips in tandem with his movements. Their bodies moved as one. Energy flowed so freely between them that there was no hope of telling where one ended and the other began.

They held like that for far longer than it took to find physical release. Dean would’ve opted to stay entwined all night if he didn’t know Sam was waiting for them.

He didn’t actually have any interest in returning to that bar and Sam obviously knew it. His brother wasn’t waiting inside, but was standing in the parking lot, resting against the trunk of the Impala. A smile played over Dean’s lips, at the sight of both his brother and his car safe and sound.

“So it’s over?” Sam asked as he unfolded his arms from his chest.

“Nah. Ganking Raphael’s only gonna have pissed them off, but at least we leveled the playing field.” Dean pulled open the driver’s door, hesitating before climbing in. “Now it’s just us against heaven and hell minus one more archangel.”

“We do have God on our side.”

Dean snorted at Cas’s assurance, quirking a brow at her. “Yeah, that’s what they all say.”

For all Dean knew it was true. Something had brought Cas back. This time around they knew for sure it hadn’t been Lucifer and, if Claire was right, they had angels on their side waiting in the outfield.

Maybe he should be glad for that, but Dean knew the only ones he could really count on were the people standing at his side. His soul was again whole, Claire was the safest she had ever been and his brother was alive and well. All the rest was just details.


End file.
